


holding my heart out (but clutching it too)

by purplemuskrat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, it's almost entirely anticipation and you should know that going in, probably way less darcy/bucky interaction than you were expecting sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplemuskrat/pseuds/purplemuskrat
Summary: Natasha's noticed a brunette acting suspiciously near the Tower. Time to investigate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i could definitely keep editing this but tbh i'm sick of looking at it. 
> 
> as with most soulmate fics in this fandom, this work might not exist without amusewithaview’s “Nothing but love in view” series; and it owes a special debt to “saving (breaking) you” for the initial setup. the title is from Reasons Why by Nickel Creek. thank you and enjoy!

Natasha kept an eye on things. She considered it one of her duties as an Avenger, and as a friend. Which is how, one fine Wednesday, she found herself strolling into the cafe across from Avengers Tower, wearing a wig and a different shade of lipstick than usual.

(She was finding it highly advantageous to maintain a “usual” makeup routine, now that she was a household name.)

Her target was a college dropout turned nonprofit worker, a pale brunette by the name of Darcy Lewis. Today found her in the same area she’d been sitting on Monday and Tuesday: outside and with a perfect view of the Tower. She kept glancing at its doors, as she had before, but today most of her attention was on the notebook in front of her. As Natasha observed, the woman scrutinized the paper, bit her lip, shook her head, crossed something out, sighed, and looked back up at the Tower. By the time Natasha had ordered her coffee, the woman was scribbling again. As she headed over with her drink, another line was crossed out.

“Whatcha writing?”

The girl startled badly—a nail in the “civilian or operative” question’s coffin—and hid the paper with one arm. Natasha let her amusement shine through, throwing some chagrin in with it.

“Oh my god, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” She slid into the opposite seat.

“N-no, you’re fine.” The brunette blushed and straightened, flipping her notebook closed. “Sorry,” she said, glancing around at the crowded cafe, “I didn’t realize how busy it’d gotten.”

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? It’s _such_ a nice day.”

“No, yeah, don’t mind me. I was just—”

“Writing a love letter?”

The strangled noise _that_ elicited was the best thing Natasha’d heard all week.

“What? No! Why would you think that? No!”

Nat took sipped her coffee around a wide grin. “If you say so,” she sing-songed.

Darcy fussed with her pen, agitated, and took a long glance across the street. “It’s _not_ a love letter,” she said, looking back at Natasha. “It’s… it’s stupid, actually, it doesn’t matter, I don't know why I'm even bothering…”

“Hey, whoa.” Natasha leaned forward, concern spilling over her features. “Whatever it is, you clearly care about it a lot. That right there makes it _not_ stupid. Like, by definition.”

Darcy quirked a smile. “Thanks. It’s just… it _is_ a letter to a guy but it’s _not_ a love letter, it — ugh I should just like, freaking _do_ it already, right? Like, put some words on a freaking page, send it off, it should not be this hard. But every time I try it’s just, ugh!” She made her hands into claws and shook them by her head.

Natasha scrunched her nose in sympathy. “I know how that goes. The most important things are the hardest to put into words.”

“Exactly! It all winds up too sappy, or guilt-trippy, or it’s like, the biggest pile of purple prose bullshit you’ve ever seen.” She glared hard at her notebook, then sighed. “I’m just frustrated. I don’t mean to vent.”

“Oh no, please do! I don’t mind, and I think you need it.” Especially if she was going to convince the Black Widow that she wasn't trouble.

The brunette waved a hand, leaning back. “Thanks, but you don’t need to ruin your day with some stranger’s self-involved tale of woe.”

Natasha rested a hand near Darcy’s. Not touching—that would be too intimate—but next to the notebook, crafting a sense of camaraderie and compassion. “Honey,” she began, “You don’t know me, and I’m not gonna pry. I don’t want you to tell me anything you don’t wanna tell me. But, no offense? You look pretty stressed out. And—speaking from experience here—unloading on a stranger can make a _world_ of difference. If you want to talk, I want to listen.”

Darcy bit her lip. “Most of it’s not even my story to tell,” she said, right on track.

Natasha shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. “Well, clearly _some_ of it is.”

Darcy sighed again and pushed her hair behind one ear. “God, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“How about with the guy?”

The other woman hesitated again, looking to the Tower blatantly enough that Natasha allowed her own gaze to follow. “Ooh, _please_ tell me it’s one of the Avengers,” she said. “Did you have a torrid affair with Captain America?”

That was enough to surprise Darcy into laughter, and ease some of her tension. “I most definitely did _not_ , sad to say.”

Natasha put on a playful moue of disappointment. “How about Iron Man? Or Hawkeye, have you _seen_ his biceps?”

Still laughing, Darcy waved her off. “It’s no one you can buy a plushie of, I promise.”

Interesting turn of phrase there. Hm.

Once the laughter had died down, Natasha pressed. “Well, whoever it is, they clearly mean a lot to you.”

Darcy’s smile faded further. “Yeah… yeah. We only met once, but…” She ducked her head, huffed a humorless laugh. “He’s my bondmate.”

“And you’ve met _once?”_ Shock colored Natasha’s words, much of it genuine. Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this. When soulmates initially bonded they tended to stay in close proximity for at least a few months. Contrary to popular belief, immediate separation after bonding did not  _directly_ result in psychological trauma; but it was so taboo as to be the stuff of horror stories even in her circles. Natasha hadn’t heard of more than a handful of real life cases—and all of those _had_ involved some kind of trauma.

Darcy laughed again; it had a wild tinge to it. “Yeah. Can you believe it, that’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. I have a bondmate. God. And until recently, I didn’t even know—” She cut herself off.

“Didn’t know what?”

Darcy shrugged, fidgeted. “Much about him at all, really.” Natasha let the prevarication slide. “We met, um, while I was travelling, and it—wasn’t a great experience.”

“What happened?”

“Umm.” Darcy hesitated but took the plunge; Natasha had really hoped she would. “He was in a really bad place. He… was convinced that being in my life would, um, would not be great for me. Did a pretty good job convincing me, too. And then he—left. He just left. And I let him.

"And, well, I mean I was kinda messed up for a minute, but I’m not gonna let some guy define me, you know? Not even a-a bondmate who left me. I mean, plenty of bondmates separate, right? And they’re fine. So I was like, screw it, I can’t help him so I’ll make my own life.”

Natasha gave an encouraging hum.

“And I _did!_ ” Darcy continued, gestures expanding. “I have a great job, and I’ve dated a little, and I have friends and I just tried to put the whole mess behind me, you know? Like, I didn’t want to be anybody’s tragic cautionary tale or whatever. I was fine. I _am_ fine. Ugh!” She closed her eyes with a frustrated groan. She took a moment, sighed deep, then looked up with a wry grin. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been waiting to get all this out. I really don’t meant to unload on you.”

“It’s fine,” Nat dismissed the apology with a hand wave, looking entranced. “So what changed? Why are you writing to him now?”

“Well, I heard from, uh, a third party—who, they don’t know I’ve met him—anyway, they found out that he’s, um, doing better, and I found out from them, and I got to thinking about it, and like…” She glanced at the Tower again then leaned forward, voice taking an urgent tone. “Here’s the thing though, is I don’t know if he even _remembers_ me. Like, I know they say it’s impossible to forget a bonding, but this guy was in a _seriously_ bad situation. I cannot over-emphasize the amount of suck he had to deal with." And then, muttered almost to herself, "I doubt I even know the half of it.”  

Natasha tried, as a rule, not to leap to conclusions. But when conclusions were staring her right in the face… Well, this was _so much_ better than she could have hoped for.

She tamped down the manic glee and got back to business.

“Are you afraid he won’t believe you?”

Darcy hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m more just… a bundle of nerves and uncertainty?”

“I get that,” Natasha said, nodding. “I’m not bonded but, I know what it’s like to make a life-changing decision. Know what helps me?”

“What?”

“The knowledge that not making a choice? Is its own kind of choice.”

Darcy sighed. “That's true. It’s just… what if…”

Natasha’s voice was gentle. “What if he doesn’t want you?”

Darcy nodded, staring hard at the table.

Natasha made a decision.

“Well!” she said brightly, standing and grabbing Darcy’s notebook from between her hands in one motion. “There’s only one way to find out!”

Darcy’s head snapped up, reaching for the pilfered item. “What the-”

Natasha let the Black Widow onto her face, for the first time since she’d left the Tower. Darcy paled.

“You coming, Darcy?”

The name she’d never offered was enough to push the brunette out of her chair. She blindly followed Natasha out of the cafe.

“Oh god, oh god,” she was muttering as they weaved through the New York crowds. “Look, I’m not—I didn’t, um—I’m not evil, okay? I promise.”

Natasha snorted. “Thanks for confirming.”

“Okay but like, Ms Romanoff—”

“Natasha.”

“…Natasha, okay, um, can you please stop? And give that back?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p”.

Darcy planted her feet steps from the windowed lobby entrance. “Hold on!” Her voice was strong, no longer wavering. Natasha approved, and deigned to show it by turning.

She clearly hadn’t expected it to work, and she floundered a bit before speaking. “You don’t—you can’t—you can’t just _do_ this. It’s not right.” She couldn’t seem to decide between folding her arms and planting her hands on her hips.

“What’s not?” Natasha cocked her head to the side.

 _“Throwing_ _me_ at him! Dragging me here! Spying on me, pick one!”

“But hiding from him was right?” She’d make up for the barb later. “He knows about you, you know.”

Darcy paled. When she spoke, her voice was more vulnerable than Natasha had yet heard it. “He does?”

“That you exist, anyway. Figured it out a couple weeks back.”

One hand fluttered near her neck, tellingly. “He remembers?”

Natasha made a see-saw gesture.

“He - he’s got empathy?”

The other woman nodded, letting her face soften. “Do you?”

Darcy shook her head. “Just tempero. He… do you know why he was always so _cold?”_

Temperopathy, one of the less useful bonds that occasionally formed between soulmates. Probably best the poor girl hadn’t gotten the full onslaught of Barnes’ emotions. Natasha’s only answer was, “Ask him.”

She grabbed the brunette’s wrist again and pulled her into the building.

Darcy seemed to be processing, but accepting, as Natasha strode with her through the lobby, nodded at the guards (who she’d practiced her disguise on earlier, just for fun. They’d tried to keep her from the restricted areas, it was hilarious and she was proud of them), and pressed her palm to one of the private elevators.

The doors opened. Darcy stared at them. Natasha was reminded of how she’d once felt, staring for the first time at the entrance to SHIELD.

Natasha turned Darcy’s wrist and placed her notebook in her upturned palm. “Your choice,” she told the younger woman.

She was impressed with her reaction. Darcy slid her a sideways glance and her voice turned wry. “Really. You went to all this trouble just to let me walk away?”

“Yes, actually.” The response surprised her, she could tell. “Oh, _I’ll_ still keep track of you. That’s just common sense. But if you really, honestly don’t want to meet him, I won’t force you.”

It did the trick. Darcy firmed herself, nodded, and stepped inside. Natasha grinned and followed.

This was going to be _fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it doesn't really come up in this chapter, but i should note that in this 'verse there's no way to tell if a person has a soulmate until after they've bonded, and no way to tell if a person's bonded without a specific, expensive blood test. most world governments strongly encourage, but rarely require, registration.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so very much for the lovely response!! you absolutely made my week. now let's see how darcy's handling everything, shall we?

Darcy could do this. She had this. It wasn’t happening by her own choice but she was a big girl, this was life, she could roll with it. She was a strong, confident, badass woman and she wasn’t going to let a little thing like meeting her long-lost soulmate for only the second time in her life—

“ _Stop the elevator!_ ” burst from her without conscious thought, and she winced. Badass indeed.

Thankfully, Natasha—and you better believe Darcy would be kicking herself over that for _ever,_ she’s spent years keeping this secret, and all it took was a sympathetic word to get her spilling her guts, in public for fuck’s sake, _bad Darcy_ —took pity on her. She leaned forward, pressed a button, and then there was that blessed little shudder as the elevator halted.

Darcy took a gulp of air and, in so doing, finally registered her reflection in the mirrored walls. “Oh my _god_ look at my hair!”

The Black Widow’s scoff, as it turns out, can send shame running through a person as easily as her glare sends fear. She'd already removed her wig and cap and  _her_ hair looked perfect, because of course it did.

Darcy paused in her frantic patting to make a face at her in the mirror. “Okay, yes, I’m stalling,” she said. “But this is—this is a _really big thing_ for me, okay?”

“It’s not getting any smaller.”

“Are you talking about my hair or meeting my—meeting him?”

Natasha answered—maybe the question and her falter both, with a soft look, the kind you give a child who’s too foolish to admonish. Well fine. Darcy chose to ignore her, locking eyes with her reflection instead.

_Okay, Darce, quit it. You’ve been waiting for this._

Six years. Six long years of tentative hacking, intense paranoia, constant worry. Six agonizing years of shivering in the summer sun and curling up alone each night. She’d built her life around his absence, no matter that she hadn’t meant to. And now he was only a few floors away.

God, but she hardly knew a thing about him. They’d spoken for what, all of ten minutes, an ocean away and half a decade ago. And they'd both been, well, pretty damn freaked out about it. 

And then. And then she’d just let him go. Let his fear and her trauma keep her head down till long after his trail went cold.

She whirled on Natasha. “Does he hate me? Did you bring me here to like, exact revenge?”

The redhead raised one eyebrow. “Do you _really_ think, if either of us had ill intent, this is how we’d go about it?”

“I mean you did meet me all in disguise and stuff, that’s—”

“No,” Natasha said. She didn't move an inch but suddenly the elevator felt much, much smaller. “Not that. What I mean is, do you think we’d take you to the Tower, where one of the better-natured Avengers might try and stop us?”

Darcy gulped. Stared. Stuttered.

Natasha pressed her lips together, an entirely transparent attempt to hold back laughter.

Oh _jeeze_.

Darcy’s fear of the other woman deflated as quickly as it’d come and she hmphed. “Well you could’ve just said no,” she said, turning forward and sticking her nose in the air.

Okay, so he didn’t hate her. Probably. _Deep breaths, Darce. It’ll be fine. You got this. Deep breaths._

The mirror caught her attention again, and she picked out every flaw automatically. Pictured herself beside him, the smiling him she’d seen on TV. It was harder to imagine now than when it had only been a fantasy.

She’d thought of him over the years, of course she had, built him up in her mind in a thousand different scenarios. Had he done the same, once his mind had been his own again? What if he wasn’t what she thought he’d be? What if _she_ wasn’t what _he_ thought she’d be? What if he only liked blondes, or fellow fighter-types? And, oh god, all the stress eating she’d been doing since his face showed up on the evening news…

Yeah okay she was still freaking out.

From the corner of her eye Darcy spotted Natasha’s movement—she stepped forward and opened her mouth, but a smooth Irish voice broke in first.

“Pardon me, ma’ams, but Sergeant Barnes would like to speak with Agent Romanoff.”

Darcy inhaled sharply.

Natasha put a stabilizing hand on her shoulder and quelled her panic with a look. “Go ahead, Friday,” she said, calm as can be. “Voice only.”

A button with a phone pictograph lit up on the control panel and a voice that Darcy had only heard once before last week came over the speakers. _“Where the hell is the elevator, Nat.”_

Natasha’s voice was smooth with just the _tiniest_  thread of glee. “Why, Barnes? Got somewhere to be?”

He let out a slew of bilingual curses that Darcy couldn’t help but adore. Another voice cut in as he wound down.

“Nat, we’re worried Bucky’s bondmate might be in trouble.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Captain America kept talking but she barely heard it, heart too full. Something about how they didn’t know where she was but thought they could use the bond to play Hot & Cold Find The Soulmate. It was a stupid plan and everything within her thrilled to hear it.

Then _he_ cut in again. “No, wait. Wait, I— _shit_.”

“What is it?” Natasha asked.

“I think she’s on a date.”

Darcy put a shaking hand to her mouth.

Natasha pressed. “I thought she was scared?”

When he spoke again, it was lower. Dejected. “She’s happy now. She—I thought… It doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

And Darcy, well, she was great at keeping secrets _(usually)_ but terrible at shutting her mouth. No matter how many ways she’d imagined re-introducing herself, she should’ve known that when the time came she’d ruin the moment by blurting something like, for example, “Oh my god you absolute adorkable  _dolt_.”

Silence.

Utter, terrifying silence.

And a wide smirk from Natasha.

Steve Rogers spoke next. “Nat?” There was a _lot_ packed into the nickname. Darcy was impressed.

“Be there in a minute,” the redhead sing-songed, reaching forward to press two buttons—the one to restart the elevator and the one that had lit up earlier.

Into the specific silence of a recently-dropped call Darcy asked, “Okay but is my hair _really_ okay?”

Natasha snorted.

Darcy frowned and fussed again, then shook her hands out to disperse some of her nervous energy, then clasped them in front of her, then thought that looked weird and dropped them to her sides, then thought _that_ looked weird and—

And now Natasha wasn't even pretending not to laugh.

Darcy huffed. “You know, I’d be totally POd at you if I could think of literally anything else right now.”

“Oh, I know.”

“And I reserve the right to be mad again later.” She was glad of the distraction now though, and big enough to admit it. Her voice had taken on the rushed, dry tinge it always did when she chose banter over freaking out.

“You gonna sic your boyfriend on me?” Natasha asked.

“Okay _first_ of all,” Darcy said, half-turning to waggle a finger, “we’re not dating yet, don’t presume; and _second_ of all if you think I outsource my revenge plots you’ve got another think—”

The doors opened.

“—coming,” she finished on a squeak, turning back.

There he was.

In the flesh.

Real as real could be.

Darcy’s gaze swept from his boots on up, taking in the cut of his jeans, how his arms strained beneath the long sleeves of the comfiest looking henley she’d ever seen. She wanted to _burrow_ in it. He was in the entrance, visibly holding himself still, hands clutching the sides of the doorway. Hair might’ve obscured his face if they weren’t so close.

As it was, their eyes met. And pretty much immediately Darcy’s filled with tears.

Which, ugh, guys are so _weird_ about girls crying. He tensed up like a deer in headlights and she just knew that in another instant he’d run off on her again and that? Not happening. All the concern and insecurity she’d been feeling vanished, replaced with the certainty, the absolute _necessity_ that he not get away a second time.

So she took the logical course of action and straight up threw herself at him.

But, well, she’d been pretty close in the first place, didn’t have much momentum to work with; he stumbled a little and she wound up pretty much climbing him like a tree (which she might be embarrassed about later, if only because of the witnesses). But then her arms were around his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck and _clung_ , and he was holding her just as tight, metal arm under her thighs and the other around her waist, hand between her shoulder blades where he’d pressed her up against the doors, and he was shaking and she was crying, and she felt his tears on her neck too, and he was _real_ , so real, flesh and metal under her fingers, between her knees, every part of her in contact with him, warmth all around her and it was so, so, so much.

Darcy had no idea how long they stayed like that. Forever and not long enough, she supposed, much like their bonding. Eventually their breaths evened out, and she glanced up. Steve Rogers was holding a handkerchief in front of her hand, face soft and a little fuzzy. She realized, while hastily wiping her nose, that at some point she’d shoved her glasses to the top of her head. Go her, good forward thinking.

She lifted her head. There he was, her bondmate, James Buchanan Barnes, face inches from her, eyes darting to take her in, looking as full of wonder as she was feeling.

“Hi,” she said, a little tremulous.

His face broke into a wide smile. It was the single best thing Darcy had ever seen.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless.

She smiled too, hand coming to rest on his cheek, hardly believing this was real.

And they probably would’ve continued to stand there, staring and grinning like saps, if the voice of Tony Stark himself hadn’t burst through the speakers.

_“Who the hell is holding up the elevator?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -there are two private elevators but the other one is down because tony had an Idea.  
> -fun fact i just learned the other day: elevators have mirrored walls so you’re too busy checking yourself out to complain about their speed. of course the tower elevators are as fast as tony could get them but pepper, prudently, made sure they were mirrored anyway. it helps… some of the time.  
> -darcy’s nonprofit (barely mentioned in ch1) deals with human trafficking because it eases a smidgen of her guilt. (the whole “i’ll make my own life” line was a touch more aspirational than she'd admit aloud)  
> -but give her more credit than she gives herself in the elevator; it was a bit more complicated than “just” letting him go, as we’ll see in the prequel i’m working on now. i’m a slow writer though, so, fair warning, it may be a while.  
> -i know this is a pretty open ending. i'm sorry not to give y'all more darcy/bucky reunited action, but tbh i was worried i'd a) bog myself down in the sap of it all, and/or b) not finish it for thirty thousand years. figured it was better to leave the rest of the reunion to your imagination.  
> -thank you again for reading! i hope i've brought you a little bit of joy, and that the rest of your day is utterly fantastic :D


End file.
